ASBO: A Thriller Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Maybe we should just go home instead. Get mom to tell the police that we’ve been home all night.”

  “You really want to rely on that drunken bitch to keep a story straight?”

  “Guess not.”

  They caught up with the others at the end of the street just as they passed by a group of shops and a grotty old pub called The Trumpet. Davie’s mother used to drink there before she stopped leaving the house entirely.

  “My mate lives a few blocks up,” Frankie told them all. “It’s the middle of the night so he should be in. Mind your manners though because this guy will fuck you up as soon as look at you. In fact he’s the only geezer in the world that actually scares me. ”

  Everyone nodded their understanding. Then they got going again, heading through the paved jungle of the housing estate and disappearing into the night.

  ***

  Frankie knocked on the door and shushed everyone. The house they were standing in front of was bigger than most of the others on the street with a longer driveway and an overhanging porch with a lamp that lit their approach.

  “Will he be mad?” asked Davie, trying to fight away the feeling that things were somehow getting worse, not better.

  “Maybe,” said Frankie. “But once I tell him the deal, he’ll understand. Last thing he needs is his best dealer going away for a long stretch.”

  A light came on in the hallway. It shone through the frosted glass of the PVC door. After a few seconds of clinking sounds, of deadbolts and chains being unlocked, the door opened up. Blinking out at them through sleep-fuzzed eyes was a shaven-headed male about the same age as Frankie. The lad was well-muscled and wearing nothing but a pair of designer boxer shorts and a black vest.

  “Fuck, Frankie – is that you?”

  “Yeah, Damien, it’s me. I need to lay low for a couple days. Some shit went down that’s pretty heavy.”

  Damien glanced at a glinting watch on his wrist and squinted beneath the glaring porch light. “Two in the morning, man. You pick your goddamn times, you know that? I ought to whoop your ass for waking me.”

  “I know, man. If I wasn’t desperate, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Damien opened the door wider and let them all in. “You’ll make this up to me, Frankie. We’ll discuss it later.”

  They all entered into the hallway and Damien closed and locked the door behind them. Then he ushered them through into the lounge. Davie peered around the room in awe. A plasma screen TV as big as any he’d ever seen hung from the far wall; sitting opposite it was a huge, wraparound sofa deep enough to bury a body in. Everything in the room seemed expensive and tasteful; the fact that it belonged to someone only a few years older than Davie made it even more impressive. He could see why Frankie had allowed himself to get dragged down the same path of dealing drugs if these were the rewards.

  But what are the penalties?

  “Take a seat,” Damien told everyone. “And try not to drip blood on the furniture,” he said to Jordan specifically, looking at his weeping bite-wound with disgust. “I’ll get some beers and put the heating on. They say it’s going snow this year, and it’s already getting too bloody cold for my liking. Frankie, you come with me and we’ll talk business.”

  Davie watched his brother leave and sat himself down on the extravagant sofa. The twins and Michelle did the same.

  “What a fucking trip,” said Dom. “Never seen anything like what happened tonight.”

  “We’re all screwed,” said Davie.

  “Stop stressing, D,” Michelle told him. “Frankie will sort everything out. He always does.”

  Davie didn’t want to talk to any of them; he’d just be wasting his time. They understood what they had all just been a part of – and they honestly didn’t care. Davie, on the other hand, couldn’t help but recall the images of Rebecca hitting the floor with scissors poking out her guts. She hadn’t hurt anyone, and neither had her mother. Now they were both probably dead.

  Davie wondered what it was about Andrew that had consumed all of his brother’s focus. The torture of that poor family had been like an obsession once Frankie had gotten into their home. Davie thought about Andrew now and considered the pain that a man would feel after watching his family get destroyed like that. Maybe it was the worst pain imaginable. It certainly seemed like it at the time as Davie had watched Andrew’s grief-stricken face.

  “You think Frankie will let us score some more?” Dom asked the group.

  “I hope so,” his twin added. “I’m starting to come down big-time. My face is killing me. Can you believe that crazy fucker bit a chunk out of my cheek? It’s still bleeding and I feel well sick.”

  “I just want to sleep,” said Michelle. “I’m fucking knackered and my face is mashed-up, man. Think I’ve lost a tooth.”

  “You ain’t getting no sleep tonight, sweetheart,” said Damien, re-entering the lounge. “You and me are going upstairs.”

  Michelle frowned at him. “The fuck you talking about? I’m Frankie’s girl.”

  “Exactly,” said Damien, “and Frankie owes me. Consider yourself rent for the bunch of you staying here. You may be a bit of a bruised-up mess, but you’ll do, I suppose.”

  “No fucking way! Frankie wouldn’t let anyone else have me.”

  Frankie entered the room and Damien winked at him. “Is that right, Frankie? Seems your girl is playing hard to get.”

  “Just get your ass upstairs,” Frankie told Michelle. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Michelle glanced around the room as if looking for someone to add something else to the conversation, but the twins just shrugged at her and Davie wasn’t about to offer any assistance, either. Far as he was concerned, Michelle had done far worse in the time he’d known her. Maybe it was about time for her to learn a lesson.

  Michelle stood up, looking confused but unable to find a sufficient argument. “You’re serious?” she said to Damien. “You want me to go upstairs and fuck you?”

  Damien laughed. “Oh no, honey, I’m going to be the one fucking you.” He offered out his hand and Michelle reluctantly took it. Damien turned to Frankie and winked. “I’ll see you in the morning, G. Oh, and that other favour you needed from me…you’ll find it in a box beneath the sofa. Have fun, kids.”

  “You, too,” said Frankie, although he didn’t seem to mean it.

  “Oh, I will,” said Damien as he disappeared with Michelle.

  Frankie collapsed down onto the sofa and kicked off his trainers, letting out a loud sigh as a tired-sounding breath escaped his lips. Davie looked at his brother and waited for him to say something, but it appeared that he was quite content to go right to sleep. Apparently murder and mayhem wasn’t enough to keep Frankie awake. Davie asked him a question: “Are you okay with Damien hitting your girl?”

  Frankie didn’t move or even open his eyelids as he spoke. “I was the one that suggested it, bro. Easy way to settle a debt, innit?”

  “She’s your bird, though.”

  “Fuck Shell! She’s happy as long as she’s got coke in her nose and a cock up her ass. Who gives a damn?”

  “Didn’t look like she wanted to go,” said Dom. “Look on her face was classic.”

  The sound of frantic fucking emanated from above them. The ceiling began to vibrate and the light fixtures swung back and forth. Two voices could be heard moaning in ecstasy – both Damien’s and Michelle’s.

  “She sounds alright to me,” said Frankie. “Now everyone just get their heads down for a few hours. I can’t be doing with any more thinking right now. We’ll sort shit out in the morning. I’ll make some calls and get a few ears to the ground – see what’s happening.”

  Everyone seemed more than happy to oblige. It’d been a long and frantic night for all of them and no one wanted to get some shuteye more than Davie. Before he could, though, he had one last question for his big brother.

  “What’s in a box under the sofa, Frankie?”

  Frankie’s voice was dreamy, alrea
dy half-asleep. “You’ll find out in the morning, little bro.” Then he was fast asleep and snoring. It was almost a full hour before Davie managed to join him. The sound of Michelle getting fucked kept him awake until then.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The nurses made Andrew wait outside in an empty corridor while Pen and Bex were rushed into separate operating theatres. Nurses now rushed back and forth between the two rooms, glancing apprehensively at Andrew each time they passed him. Their expressions were always grim and pitiful. A bad sign.

  Andrew’s own wounds – serious in their own right, and still bleeding – needed looking at too, but he had refused anyone who tried to take him away, unwilling to move until he knew the fate of his family. If only he could take their place. If Andrew died, Pen and Bex would still have each other, but if they died, then Andrew would have nothing to live for anyway – his life would remain an empty husk forever, containing nothing more than the memories of things taken away from him.

  Frankie will pay for this, one way or another.

  “Mr Goodman?”

  Andrew looked up to see a pair of familiar faces. He smiled at them as best he could. “Officers, what are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” said Dalton. “We’ve had reports of multiple stabbings. A man, his daughter, and his wife.”

  “We were really hoping it wasn’t you,” said Wardsley, shaking his head solemnly, “but we had a bad feeling.”

  Andrew huffed with exasperation, but it came out more like an ill-natured hiss. “Looks like your feeling was right.”

  The two officers took a seat on the bench beside Andrew and leaned forward so they could both see him. For the first time since Andrew had known them, neither was taking notes. They weren’t here to take a statement; at least not right now.

  “Was this all down to Frankie?” Dalton asked.

  Andrew ran a hand across his forehead and rubbed at his tired eyes. They felt fuzzy and had started to itch. It must have been getting close to dawn by now. He nodded wearily. “Frankie and his followers, yes.”

  “You have names for any of them?”

  “I got their first names, but no surnames. One of the kids was Frankie’s younger brother, though. I know because I admitted the lad here at the hospital last night after I hit him with my car.”

  Wardsley looked surprised. “You ran him over?”

  Andrew shook his head. “Not on purpose. It was an accident. A coincidence, if you can believe that. I rushed the boy here straight away and gave him a lift home afterwards. Frankie found out about it.”

  “He probably thought you did it intentionally,” Dalton suggested.

  “Probably. Didn’t matter that his little brother tried telling him the truth, Frankie wanted his fun. Now my girls are in surgery, maybe dying…maybe dead already.”

  “We’ll get him for this, Mr Goodman,” said Dalton.

  “You think so? I mean, honestly, do you think you’ll put him away and keep him there? What if he has twenty people giving him an alibi?”

  The look on the officer’s faces told Andrew all he needed to know. “Don’t worry about it,” he told them with a wave of his hand. “I know it’s not your fault.”

  Wardsley sighed. “If it were up to us then the little scumbag would never have gotten out in the first place. Criminals like Frankie are beyond redemption.”

  “But what made him this way?” Andrew asked the question because he was unable to fathom the answer himself. “Lots of kids have a bad upbringing, but it’s more than that with Frankie. He’s rotten. There’s nothing where his heart should be, just a big empty space.”

  “I wish there were an answer that made some sense,” said Dalton, “but there’s not. We made some calls to the borstal that he was kept at. One of the guards that knew him told us that during his first year he was bullied by the other inmates – maybe that has something to do with it. He certainly changed during those years.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Wardsley took over from his partner. “This guard told us that by the time he left, Frankie was running the show. Top dog – a complete turnaround. He also told us…I shouldn’t really say.”

  “What?” Andrew demanded. “Tell me.”

  “Well,” Wardsley continued. “All of the youth offenders that had bullied Frankie in his first year were murdered, one by one, over the course of a few months. Every one of them was…impaled.”

  “Impaled?”

  Wardsley nodded. “At the time of death they had been violated by a blunt object – typically pool cues from the Rec Room.”

  Andrew grimaced. “Jesus.”

  “We think that perhaps these other residents of the offender’s home abused Frankie during his first year and he took a fitting revenge on them all. To say it left him with some severe emotional problems is an understatement to say the least.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Andrew, “but it doesn’t make what he’s done okay. He’s still a monster, whatever he’s been through.”

  “I agree,” said Wardsley. “He’ll never change now.”

  “But chances are he’ll be back on the streets to hurt other people?”

  “We’ll get him,” said Dalton. “We’ll charge him with attempted murder and do everything we can for you and your family.”

  “But even if he goes away, it won’t be forever; even if my family dies?”

  “It’s…uncertain.”

  Andrew had heard enough. “So what the hell are you telling me this for? I don’t need to hear it.”

  Wardsley and Dalton both put their hands up to calm him. “I know, Andrew. We wanted to check on you, to see if you needed anything?”

  Andrew looked at the officers, examined the concern on their faces and looked for gaps. Their empathy seemed genuine and Andrew was left with little doubt that these two police officers were just people like anybody else. They regretted Andrew’s pain and despised the fact that demons like Frankie could walk the earth unobstructed. Their offers of assistance were real, but right now Andrew had no clues what to ask for – or if he even needed anything from them at all.

  Before he had chance to reply, a fully-scrubbed surgeon stepped out of one of the operating theatres and approached him with caution. “Mr Goodman?”

  Andrew stood up, his knees shaking uncontrollably. “Yes, that’s me.”

  The surgeon nodded and smiled. “Your daughter has been stabilised for now. There is some damage to the digestive tract that could possibly cause complications later, or even some lasting damage, but we’ve managed to stem any internal bleeding and she’s no longer in critical condition.”

  Andrew didn’t absorb a single word. None of what the doctor said had informed him with absolute certainty what he really needed to know. “Is she going to make it?”

  The surgeon nodded. “Barring anything unexpected your daughter should make a full recovery. As I said, the damage to her large intestine could cause some issues, but nothing that can’t be managed. You’ll be able to see her in a few hours when we move her somewhere more comfortable.”

  Andrew let out a sigh of relief that seemed to go on forever. He heard similar sounds from the police officers behind him. “What about my wife?” he asked the surgeon, moving on to his next concern now that the previous one was abated.

  The surgeon shook his head and seemed apologetic. Andrew fought away the overwhelming urge to vomit as the man spoke. “I’m afraid Dr Killarney is the attending for your wife, so I can’t give you much information. From my cursory examination of her wounds however, I would not be optimistic. She’s lost a lot of blood. I’m sorry, Mr Goodman.”

  Andrew felt all the moisture in his body drop to his feet, threatening to tip him over like a statue in the wind. The surgeon turned and walked away, back towards Bex’s room. Andrew collapsed backwards and Officer Wardsley caught him, directing his fall towards the bench and setting him down.

  As Andrew fought to get his breathing under control, he looked both officer
s dead in the eyes and said, “I need a favour.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sunshine crept into the room and smothered Davie’s face. His eyelids fluttered as his pupils reacted to the light and it took him a few minutes to open them fully. Once he was a little more awake, he looked around to get his bearings. The living room was foreign and bizarre at first, but after a few moments, Davie recalled the memories of last night. This was Damien’s place; the current location of his on-going nightmare. No one else inhabited the room currently, and Davie had the entire plush sofa to himself. He was alone in someone else’s house. Suddenly, he felt very vulnerable.

  “Everyone has gone back to their own gaffs,” said Frankie, from behind him in the room’s doorway.

  “Didn’t you want us all to stick together?” said Davie.

  Frankie entered the room and sat on a futon opposite the sofa. “At first I did, yeah, but Damien told me that if the police come and find us in a group matching the exact description that a victim gave it would corroborate their evidence. I told everyone their stories to stick to and sent them on their way. They know what to say so don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” said Davie. “I don’t know what I feel. Last night was fucked up.”

  Frankie nodded in agreement, seeming to reminisce about the events. “Should never have gone down that way. Way too messy, leaving things like that. Jordan’s face was really messed up this morning – think it’s infected or something. My fault though; should have dealt with things better…more neatly.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Davie. “You should have killed them?”

  Frankie shrugged. “Maybe. Too late now, though. We just need to be ready.”

  “Ready how?”

  Frankie tilted his body forward, sliding off the futon onto his knees. He reached an arm underneath the sofa and retrieved a flat wooden box, placing it carefully on his lap.

  Davie frowned. “What is it?”

  “Our insurance policy,” said Frankie. He unfastened a pair of brass clips on either end of the box and popped open the lid.